Three Scenes for 'A Better World'
by Kassia
Summary: (Justice League animated) The world's changing, and everyone goes on as best they can.
1. Inertia

These are three short scenes based on the animated Justice League episode 'A Better World'. They contain spoilers for that episode, and actually they won't really make sense unless you know what happens in it. So go watch it now. Find a way. 'Cause it's a great episode.

And for those of you still here, enjoy!

**Inertia**

She ran her hands over the surprisingly uncomfortable upholstery, and waited for him to speak. She couldn't completely shake the thought that this was a trap, a trap that she had walked right into just because Batman had offered her a ride. She'd never forgive herself, if it was.

She'd never forgive _him_.

"Well?" She raised her arms behind her head and straightened her legs, arching her back as she stretched. "Do you have something to say, or did you just want the pleasure of my company?" She rolled her shoulders as she settled back into her seat, watching what she could see of his face.

"I came here to tell you that you have to stop."

"Mmm." She smiled to show her annoyance. "I would have thought you knew me better than that by now."

"I do. But I'm asking that you take the idea seriously this time."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you think that if I took it seriously before, I already would have changed my mind?"

"I'm only talking about this time. Things are different this time."

She turned towards the window. "Not as I see it."

After a brief silence he asked, "You heard what happened to the Joker?"

She nodded absently. "Of course." Wait, was he implying -- She turned to him, eyes widening in indignation. "But he was a murderous lunatic!"

She was conscious that a bit of fear had edged into her voice, and he must have heard it, because he smiled. "Oh, yes. He's different. It could never happen to you."

"Don't mock me. Even if the Justice League would do that to a mere thief, they'd have to catch me first."

His mouth twisted in what she thought might be disgust. "They just _did_ catch you. Who do you think I am?"

She felt a surge of panic, rising to the top of her disbelief, and grabbed at the door. There was no handle inside, and it refused to open at the pressure of her hands.

"You're already in custody," Batman continued calmly, "in a small container that I can make impenetrable if I so choose. And you're dressed as a well-known thief and carrying stolen goods on your person." He smiled. "Not that that makes a difference." 

"Let me out!"

He grabbed her arm and twisted it painfully, obliging her to face him. "Selina, if you stop now, you'll be okay. _If you stop now._"

_Selina?_ she thought wildly. He released her, and she felt back against the uncomfortable upholstery. She rubbed her sore arm, more to make a point than to ease the pain. "Is the only way to get out of this car to tell you that I'll stop?"

He closed his eyes. "I'll let you out no matter what you tell me."

"I won't change. I can't."

"You can."

"I won't, and for me that comes out to the same thing."

He pressed a button, and the door opened, allowing in the cool, smell-infested air of the Gotham. It comforted her, reminding her that there was a whole wide world outside the Batmobile. Lots of places to hide. 

_Catch me if you can, you assholes._ She began to slide out of the car, but a hand grabbed her arm again. This time, she managed not to betray the sudden jolt of nightmarish fear she felt. 

But when she turned to look at him, he was almost-smiling. He crooked a finger at her.

"What?" she snapped, and then remembered. "Oh. Of course." She removed the large gold bracelet and the Bastet earrings she had hooked through her costume ears, and handed them to him. He released her. She felt safer once she was out of the car, safe enough to rest a hand on the canopy and duck her head down to smirk at him. "See you around," she purred.

"I hope not. And... Selina."

"What?"

"See if you can't get yourself killed before we find you."

Her stomach knotted. "Have I done something offend you?" she asked lightly, as her fingernails raked the canopy of the Batmobile. 

He shook his head, not in a way that meant no, and pressed a button. She leapt back as the door closed.

"What, no kiss goodbye?" she shouted to the Batmobile as it sped away. 

She looked down at her hand, at the ring that he had probably _let_ her keep, and smiled sourly. A goodbye present? A token of his condescension?

He was overreacting. He had to be.

And he would see her again, whether or not he wanted to. 


	2. The Language of Flowers

****

The Language of Flowers

This time two years ago, the same grave had been covered with flowers. The plot had not been able to contain them, and the fence that surrounded the graveyard had been garlanded with hundreds of individual gifts. Now, only a few wreaths hung on the graveyard's fence, and on the grave itself there were only four very distinct offerings. The bouquet Diana brought made five. 

Were people here so fickle? Did they forget so quickly what had been done for them? On Themyscira, those who sacrificed themselves for others were remembered forever. 

She noticed J'onn out of the corner of her eye, standing at the entrance to the cemetery. She guessed that he didn't want to interrupt her private moment, so she beckoned to him. She had no thoughts for the Flash's grave that couldn't be thought elsewhere just as easily. 

"I do not wish to intrude - " began J'onn, as he drew up beside her in front of the marble slab.

"You're not intruding. But I'll leave you alone soon, if you want."

"There is no need." 

He looked down, intently, at the grave. On a whim, she said, "Guess who brought each of the bouquets."

He didn't seem taken aback by the strange challenge, but simply turned his observant eyes on the flowers. "The wreath," he said, picking up the ring of red, white and blue flowers that obscured most of the grave, "the wreath is from Superman."

"That's what I thought, too."

He leaned it against the side of the grave. "That bouquet is yours," he said, pointing.

She smiled. "How did you know?"

"The cypress branch." He looked thoughtful. "You poured libations the year Flash died."

"I did. Guess the others."

"The dark roses are, I think, from Batman."

J'onn looked to her for confirmation. She shrugged. "I don't know."

"The yellow and red flowers -- "

"Carnations."

"Those are from Hawkgirl, and the ones arranged professionally in a basket are from Green Lantern."

"I think you're right."

"I could be wrong. The basket could be from Batman, the carnations from Green Lantern -- "

Diana cut him off impatiently, "It doesn't matter." She crossed her arms, and regarded the pathetically small array of flowers. "In this culture, they give each flower a different meaning. But, like everything else, the idea has been subverted for commercial uses."

"Each of these flowers has a specific significance?"

"In theory. It's not a very strongly maintained tradition, and I doubt that our teammates chose their flowers on that basis." She gestured to the understated bouquet J'onn had assigned to Batman. "For example, red roses signify romantic love. Though dark red might have a different meaning. I'm not sure."

He knelt down by the grave. "These have a language whether or not it is assigned to them. Without translation, these still speak volumes."

"Maybe for you. You always see more than the rest of us do, J'onn." 

"I know," he said, in a voice that made it clear that it was not something he enjoyed.

She wanted to tell him that it was easier if you didn't look, but she wasn't sure if he had that option. She extended her hand. "Come, J'onn. We have real things to attend to. Solid things." Living things. 

"I would like to stay here a while longer."

"That's your privilege." She smiled at him. "But remember, we have work to do."

He nodded, not smiling back. She turned and walked down the path that lead to the gate. She didn't look back until she was out of the graveyard. Then she saw J'onn, still kneeling by the grave, staring at the flowers as if they were a poem he was trying to memorize. 


	3. The Girl He Left Behind Him

The Girl He Left Behind Him

She wasn't drinking brandy or whisky, and she knew that somewhere the gods of journalism were frowning down on her, eyeing her chilled glass of white wine in disgust. She didn't blame them; she wasn't big on the white stuff, either, but she'd found that there were certain times of day when it suited her. 

Of course, the gods of journalism had more important bones to pick with her than her taste in alcoholic beverages. Yesterday, Lois had told herself that today was the day she'd start atoning for those transgressions. Not that she had actually believed herself when she said it, but now, with an empty, blue sky outside and a glass of wine in hand, she felt up to the challenge. 

If it had been cloudy, she probably wouldn't have been able to muster the strength. 

She leaned over to the other end of the couch, where the phone sat, and picked up the receiver. Her fingers punched in the number without her having to consciously recall it. 

He picked up after one ring. "Hello?" said a gruff, weary voice.

"Good morning, Perry. It's Lois. Have I got a story for you. A really good story. Want me to bring it over?"

A pause. "That good, is it? Can we afford to publish anything that good?"

She glanced towards the window, and the empty sky beyond it, and smiled. "I think we can today."

The best thing about Perry was how quickly he understood things. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Lois. He's only been missing for a week. There's a good chance he'll come back. And you remember what he said."

Remember? It was a long time ago, yes, but she couldn't have remembered it better if Superman branded it on her skin. 

"I appreciate what you're doing," he had said, beautifully sincere, gloriously patronizing, "and it's necessary that society have people like you who are concerned with truth and justice." He held up that day's copy of the Planet, and his expression had darkened. "But this kind of article has nothing to do with justice, Lois. It has everything to do with spreading discord, with taking away our ability to maintain peace and security. Articles that are critical of our efforts undermine our efforts, and for what? So you can complain? Get people's attention?"

He had turned to Perry. "You're free to print what ever you want, but if you print another article like this, I'll have to close down the paper."

Superman's expression had been one that he had once reserved for people who were trying to destroy the world. It was only in retrospect that Lois had realized that, as far as he was concerned, that was what they were trying to do. 

"You won't have a better opportunity, Perry." She swirled her drink, and said lightly, "Come on, I feel like jumping off a bridge today. Would you and your newspaper care to come with me?"

"Hmm. I don't know. Is everyone doing it?"

She grinned. "They will once they see us do it."

He didn't answer immediately, and, for once in her life, Lois didn't rush him. She didn't mind letting him think, as long as he thought his way to the right conclusion. 

At last he said, "If we do this, we're not going to do it half-assed."

"Of course not."

"Then bring me everything you've got, and I mean _everything_." He took a deep breath. "I'll hold the presses."


End file.
